Never Again
by Melissa Treglia
Summary: Darkward/Victimella. All-Human AU. Quiet and shy Bella can't believe the popular Edward Cullen wants her. He seems quite the catch but, as his moods become more frighteningly erratic, she wonders if this is the only love she deserves. NOT ROMANCE.
1. Part 1

Eclipse: 6. Switzerland – "I cringed, waiting for the torrent, but it didn't come. He just continued to glare, possibly too angry to speak." The abusive elements of Bella and Edward's relationship are disgustingly romanticized throughout the series. How can we strip away the rose-coloured glasses and sparkly vampire exterior and see what really lies beneath? Answer: Make 'em_ all_ human!

This is kind of began as a what-if scenario in my head, as in "What if Bella really was a smart but shy girl with low self-esteem? And what if Edward's behavior in the books was taken to its logical conclusion, but he was merely human rather than a Meyerpire?" Yeah, that's all you really need to know going into this. The most basic human elements of all four books are also covered, more or less, and are slightly out of sequence in this All-Human AU. It also rather conveniently doubles as a PSA, as this is _the real shit_ that actually happens to real people.

**Warning:** Contains strong language, underage drinking, implied stalking, dubcon, domestic violence, and assorted creepy behavior. All the greatest hits, and then some, in no particular order. If you aren't comfortable with that or are easily triggered, please _for the love of all that is holy_ skip this one. (I've tried to tone it down as best I can, but still... abuse is just ugly. And I really don't want to give any fellow abuse survivors any unpleasant flashbacks.)

* * *

><p><strong>Part 1<strong>

My name is Isabella Marie Swan. (You were expecting Ishmael?)

When things all started, I was a junior at Forks High School in Forks, Washington. Forks is a tiny town that gets a lot of rain. I hate rain, mostly because I hate getting wet in it. But I like the trees, they're so green and tall and wild and _lush_. Its almost like landing on one of those alphanumerically named planets on _Stargate_. Kinda awesome, actually. Even with all the rain.

I live here with my dad, Charlie Swan. He's the chief of police. See, I moved here because I missed him and wanted to spend more time with him. Besides, my mom had gotten remarried to a minor league baseball player, and she's the type of person that doesn't like to be pinned down.

I know she was only staying with me in Phoenix for my sake, so that I wouldn't have a gypsy's life and could have a fairly consistent academic career. But I could see how unhappy it made her to stay with me, instead of traveling the country with her new husband, so I moved in with my dad.

Frankly, my dad's a much more stable character. Don't get me wrong; I love my mom to pieces, but she's better at being a buddy than a mother. She's not at all like my dad, who's as reliable as the Rock of Gibraltar. Some would call that boring, but not me. I am my father's daughter; I find comfort in routine. Besides, my mom is adventurous enough for the both of us.

If you're reading this, you're probably wondering what I look like. Well, I'm pale as a ghost, my eyes and hair are shit-brown in color, and I'm skinny as a rail. I've always wanted to be curvy like J. Lo, but that'll never happen. My metabolism's far too high to gain any weight, and I have to eat about five thousand calories a day just to maintain.

The only people who actually want a faster metabolism seem to be the ones who've never had to deal with one full-time (you know what they say about wishing for things...). Trust me, it sucks; I need to weigh myself all the time because, if I don't get all those calories every day – heavy on the protein, mind you – I'm in danger of falling underweight. And I can't exercise, because my body burns the calories off far too fast as it is, so my arms've got the strength of cooked spaghetti and the definition of Mr. Potato Head.

Don't stare like that; you'll break something in your brain. I have a legitimate medical condition, and I've got the card and paperwork to prove it. Just because you've never heard of it before doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

Sorry if I sound defensive. I've just had to deal with endless teasing all my life, on top of dealing with the reality of it. And of course, there's the well-meaning folks who tell me that I need to eat more because I could use a little meat on my bones. Thanks, guys, like I'm not insecure enough as it is.

That being said, I _love_ food. I particularly have a soft spot in my heart for Italian. Probably because my maternal grandma (her name was Chiara, but I called her Nonna) was Italian and she made _the best_antipasto. Nonna's mother's name was Isabella, too, so... yeah. I'm kinda proud to be Italian... even if it's only a quarter of my blood. I learned how to cook from Nonna, and her recipes have totally saved my life in helping me keep what little weight I have on.

I friggin' _miss_ her, man. I wish she was still around, so we could have our "girl talks" in Italiano, again. I sometimes picture her, smiling down on me from Upstairs. I hope she's proud of me. I sometimes sprinkle Italian words into conversations, just for the hell of it. I guess it's my way of keeping her memory alive, and staying connected to that part of my heritage. (It's also an easy way to get around the school's no-swearing policy. Nonna could get pretty creative with the cussing.)

Oh, wanna know something else that's cool? My paternal grandma was Native American, part of the Quileute people in the area, so I'm actually biracial. (You wouldn't know it, though, because my skin is super-glue white.) My dad's mom died before I was born, though. So, I didn't really get to know her. I wish I could've, though; I bet she was an awesome person.

_Mannaggia!_ I forgot, I've got homework to do. _Fuck._

* * *

><p>So, you want to know about my first day at Forks High School.<p>

It had sucked of course, being the new kid in the middle of junior year. By that point, everybody knows everybody, so you're kinda the odd man out. And, in a small town like this, all the kids have known each other for years. So, you're basically screwed in terms of getting to know people and fitting in.

What I didn't expect was a half-dozen kids initially latching onto me, mostly because I'm the police chief's daughter. Probably wanted my help getting them out of parking tickets or something; no dice, guys. Homegirl don't play that game.

One girl who's really, totally genuine is Angela Weber, and she's now my best friend, my sister from another mister. She's the quiet type; she wears thick wire-rimmed glasses because she's nearsighted, she's very smart and is normally very shy. But I'm not so good with people either, at least at first; so, us outcasts gotta stick together, right?

Anyway, Angie introduced herself during a group assignment in History class. Everybody had grouped up in their respective cliques that have existed forever to work on a presentation for the next couple of weeks as a major part of their grade. Everyone had a group but me and Angie, so the teacher basically threw the two of us together. Which is sort of how shy people get to know other shy people – Fate, or some other outside influence, shoves us in the same boat together, and we learn to sink or swim as a team after some awkward initial overtures.

Needless to say, going over to each other's houses after school every day to work on our History project together gave me and Angie a chance to bond over our mutual love of classic rock bands, opera and musical theater, sci-fi television shows, and lampooning bad movies. Since then, we've been pretty much inseparable.

We sat at our own table at lunch; the far corner table that nobody goes near, closest to the double doors and furthest from the food line, that's basically the social Siberia to the rest of our grade. We ate, did our homework, chatted comfortably without interruptions from the rest of the kids in the cafeteria. It was pretty nice, not eating alone at lunchtime. A luxury I didn't have back in Phoenix.

But that first day? Hella awkward.

The other class of note, on my first day, was Biology. The only available seat was next to Edward Cullen. Edward, if you don't know, was arguably the hottest boy in school, the star pitcher on the baseball team and captain of the soccer team. His brother Emmett was a senior on the football team, and Ed's twin sister Alice was on the volleyball team.

A family of jocks, basically. Rich jocks, as their dad's a doctor and mom's a lawyer who've been happily married for a million years. I felt hopelessly inadequate next to him, being strictly lower-middle class, a child of divorce and without an athletic bone in my body.

Incidentally: It's rather ironic that Mrs. Cullen's job involves representing victims of medical malpractice. You'd think marrying a doctor would be a conflict of interest, but... guess not. It's probably how they met; a coworker left a pair of forceps in somebody, or something like that, and the ambulance chasers were called in to help clean up the mess.

But basically, because Mom and Dad Cullen were always at work or were always running out the door without having any time to spare for their offspring, the Cullen kids practically raised themselves. And I guess Dr. and Mrs. Cullen felt guilty about that, and bought them a lot of expensive crap to try to make up for the time they didn't spend with their kids.

As a mom myself now, I'm beginning to understand how they must've felt. You can never make up for the time you lost, the time you frittered away on making more money and all the brief temporal pleasures in life, or being focused on less important crap; not when it comes to your kids. After all, nobody's young forever, and once the moment's gone, it's... just gone. No going back. And no amount of money in the world can buy you real, honest-to-goodness love. Not from your spouse, not from your kids, and not from your friends.

I'm not judging Dr. and Mrs. Cullen. Honest. They're good people who made some poor decisions; and who hasn't been in that particular boat? "Let he who is without sin..." and all that.

But basically, Edward grew up surrounded by riches and yet still being so poor and hungry for love. Despite my more humble upbringing, I've always been much richer than he ever was in ways I didn't realize. I didn't understand then, but I... I guess I kinda pity him now.

Doesn't excuse the things he did, though. But I'll get to that. Right now, we're talking about my first day in Biology, sitting next to this hot guy who apparently has the world at his feet.

He spent nearly the entire period staring at me. It felt strange, to be the object of attention. Strange and uncomfortable. I remember thinking that he seemed really... intense (boy, I had no idea how true that was!). I thought maybe I smelled funny to him or something and tried, as subtly as possible, to give myself a B.O. check. Seems rather silly now, especially as there was nothing wrong with the way I smelled. After that, I just kinda sunk down in my seat and tried to avoid looking at him until the bell rang.

After class, he came up to me and apologized for his boorishness. He told me he couldn't help himself, because I looked so pretty. If I had had an ounce more self-confidence back then, I would've taken the comment less gravely – or disbelievingly, for that matter. I should've just smiled and thanked him for the compliment and let that be that. I mostly blushed in embarrassment, though, and my thoughts had whirled around in my brain as I tried to figure out what the heck he saw in me. Then we just parted ways for our other classes.

After school, I had to wait forever for him to get his Volvo out of the way so I could pull my beat up old pickup out of the school parking lot, and go home. But nothing of real interest happened for the rest of that day.

* * *

><p>A few guys asked me to the junior prom over the week, but I declined, of course. Not a good dancer, here, so I'd probably end up stomping on a poor guy's feet repeatedly and having to take him to the hospital for a broken toe.<p>

Edward skipped Biology class a few times, though, as far as I can remember.

I honestly didn't think he actually liked me much... until I walked into the class on the next Monday to find a single red rose and a Hallmark card placed on my half of the lab table. Edward wasn't in the room at that moment.

I looked around, wondering if it was either mislaid or a practical joke. Who'd want to give me a flower? And a rose, at that? Especially given that Valentine's Day had passed well before I'd come to the school, so even the romantic nature of that particular holiday couldn't be blamed for this unexpected gift.

But the card's envelope had my name on it, in Edward's neat cursive handwriting. I opened it, and saw that the card depicted a teddy bear with a speech balloon reading "I like you bear-y much." Cheesy, but cute.

Inside, in Edward's handwriting, read "Will you go out with me?"

I didn't answer the question that day. And over the course of the week, I got a rose on the table in Biology class every day. I finally capitulated after discussing the matter with Angie, who thought the gesture of giving me roses was so sweet and old-school romantic and that _of course_ I should go out with him.

I said I'd think about it, but I eventually told Edward my answer was "yes."

He took me to Seattle over the weekend, so we could spend our first date together enjoying the sights and getting to know each other better. He took me to the museum, and the Space Needle. I asked him to take me to a bookstore, and he dropped me off there, saying he had to get something but he'd come right back for me.

When I left the bookstore, a group of college boys cornered me. I was literally right outside the bookstore when they surrounded me. Nothing actually happened, though, because Edward pulled up and pushed through the group of boys to get to me. He put an arm around me and told me he was sorry for leaving me alone. Then he pushed a path through the boys again, me in tow, escorting me to his vehicle.

I had been unnerved by the incident, however, and told Edward I wanted to go home.

"Don't be stupid, Bella. You're fine," Edward replied. "We'll go eat, and then I'll take you home."

That should've been my first warning of the shape of things to come. But I just wasn't tuning in. Instead of insisting he take me home, I relented.

He took me to a nice restaurant, and scored us a private booth. He also slipped the waitress a couple of twenties to serve us alcohol, despite both of us being underage. I was uncomfortable with that, but I didn't say anything.

As you can imagine, he got away with the bribe.

He kept insisting I eat, even though I wasn't really hungry and was very near my calorie quota for the day. When I weakly protested, he told me I was too uptight and needed to loosen up a little. He began to ply me with the wine he'd ordered illegally. I wish I could tell you I didn't drink enough to alter my self-control by a single iota, but that would be a lie.

I lost my virginity that night in the backseat of his car. I don't remember much, only that he was a little rough on me and the soreness I felt after the deed was done. That was definitely not the way I had wanted my V-card swiped, but the wine had gone right to my head (and given I'm all of a hundred pounds soaking wet and not much of a drinker, it doesn't take much to get me shit-faced). It's obviously not something that can be helped now, but it's one of several regrets I can't help but have.

I'm pretty sure I had the presence of mind to ask him where the condoms were, though. I just don't remember if he'd actually worn one, or if it was dumb luck that kept me from getting pregnant that night.

Given his aversion to prophylactics, I'd say dumb luck was somehow involved.

And yes, he did take me home after that. Such a gentleman.

* * *

><p>At lunch the following week, he dragged me away from my seating arrangement with Angie to sit with him. I told him I wanted to sit with her, but Edward said to me that "one period away from her isn't gonna kill you, Bella."<p>

I sat with him, his siblings and teammates. He introduced me to all and sundry as "my new girlfriend, Bella," which was something of an ego boost for me, I'll admit. It was a very weird experience being at the popular kids' table. One girl, a cheerleader named Jessica, kept watching me with a rather keen interest that made me a bit uncomfortable.

I only realized much later on that her expression as she looked upon me was actually a mixture of fear and pity.

That weekend, however, Edward decided he wanted to take me on a picnic. He took me to this little meadow clearing in the woods. It was a brief hike, and we had one of those little wicker picnic baskets and checkered blankets, the whole deal. He also brought along a six-pack of beer for himself and a twenty-ounce bottle of Coke for me.

I'd told Edward about my special dietary requirements some time before, so he'd stuffed as much food as he could in the basket.

We spent as much time making love in that meadow as we did eating there. I'd initially had misgivings about being intimate again so soon in our relationship, but I shoved them aside – he'd already taken my virginity, so what was the big deal?

The topic of protection did come up, and he said he hated condoms... but then I told him I was on the pill, and that seemed to make him happy. I had made sure to visit the local Planned Parenthood and get myself a prescription for birth control pills as soon as I could, especially after what happened on our first date. So this time, at least, I didn't have to worry so much about precautions.

It was actually quite wonderful, lying on that checkered blanket with nothing but bright blue sky above us, surrounded by flowers and the sound of birdsong carried on the gentle breeze. Spring had come to Forks, and the weather was finally warm and pleasant after several weeks of chilly weather. And we were together, alone, our lighter clothing scattered around us where we had haphazardly thrown them.

Dad would've had a fit if he knew.

Edward told me he wanted to take a picture of me like that, naked on the blanket. I was embarrassed and said no, but he rather charmingly wheedled me into it and promised no one else would see the pictures.

Edward also snuck into my house later that same night. I asked him if this was going to be a habit, and he said it already was. He said he didn't like the idea of me sleeping alone, without him beside me.

Dad had already gone to bed by then, and Edward slipped into bed with me. When he pulled my pajama pants off, I quietly told him that doing it there in the house with my father in the next room was a bad idea.

Edward told me it was no big deal, that part of the fun was in knowing we could get caught and to stop being such a baby. I relented, biting down on first my own finger and then a corner of my pillow to muffle the moans that settled in my throat. I didn't want Dad to wake up and check up on me during the night, only to find Edward hip-deep in me.

Edward managed to sneak out of my house before dawn, with my dad none the wiser. But he snuck into my room a lot, with much the same results every time – fucking me senseless in the place I'd spent the most memorable parts of my childhood, with my Dad snoring away in the next room.

I still don't know why I let Edward do that... or how we managed to get away with it for so long.

But we also spent a lot of time back at that meadow too, especially during the times when he knew he wouldn't be able to sneak into my room.

* * *

><p>Edward didn't take me to his place until we'd been together for three months. Probably because his parents had such insane schedules, there was no way to be introduced to them properly any sooner.<p>

Of course, I was nervous about meeting them officially. But Dr. and Mrs. Cullen were both very kindly sorts who seemed to be enthusiastic about having me be a part of their lives. Especially when Edward confidently declared to his family that he fully intended to marry me one day.

We hadn't been together for all that long, but that was such a boost for me. He loved me enough to seriously consider me as the future Mrs. Edward Cullen. What a rush!

Alice squealed in delight and started babbling about a Vera Wang wedding dress she'd seen on the internet that she just _knew_ I'd look awesome in (which made my eyes glaze over, as I'm _so_ not a fashionista), and Emmett had a goofy grin on his face.

I knew Emmett sorta liked me in "that way", even though he'd been in a serious relationship with his girlfriend Rose for over a year. He'd once claimed he would've been tempted to try his luck if Rose didn't already have him by the balls. Em had found my ability to cuss at length in Italian completely, hilariously awesome, and had convinced me to teach him some of the better – and more sacrilegious – obscenities.

Emmett, of course, remarked on Edward's declaration of commitment that if anybody could handle his brother, a feisty little Italian broad certainly could.

I joked in response that, given my mixed ethnic background, "if he doesn't behave himself, I could always get ragingly drunk, and say impure things about his parentage while I scalp 'im." Emmett nearly fell off his chair at that.

Edward has never taken my friendship with Emmett all that easily, tending to glower at his brother while Em and I converse in a rather spirited fashion. Of course, Emmett naturally tries to tease his brother out of what Emmett calls "Wardo's emo-bullshit mode" and I find myself often jumping on the bandwagon as Edward's constant need be taken oh-so-seriously can be rather draining.

Anybody who knows Emmett knows he's just a goofball, a big ol' teddy bear, and not to take him seriously when he jokes around because it's only in play. Clearly, his own brother missed the memo.

Edward scowled over dinner, even though the rest of the family were laughing and enjoying themselves. Several times, me and the other Cullens tried to cajole Edward out of his suddenly black mood.

He didn't lighten up until I followed him into his bedroom. There, he shoved me into his bed and kissed me forcefully. I spoke to him softly, in attempt to get him to calm down, but he'd have none of that.

We had some seriously rough sex in his own bed, with his family all accounted for in the house. I had to bite my lips shut to keep from crying out. The incident resulted in some rather interesting bruises on my thighs (from the force he put into his thrusts), my hips (where he'd clung too hard when he'd flipped me onto my stomach and rode me), my arms (he'd slammed them against the headboard to pin me when we were face-to-face) and my ass (which he'd slapped repeatedly).

I don't think he's ever really known his own strength. But the bruises were all in areas my clothes could hide, so his family didn't actually know I walked out of their house looking like I'd lost a round to Mike Tyson.

I often find myself wondering if his family really knew him at all.

But the scowl was gone from Edward's face after that particular sexcapade. He'd initially panicked when he saw how easily my pale skin had bruised and promised never to do that again, and finally relaxed when I told him it wasn't a big deal. We all have our moments, right?

Besides, if this was the best way for him to work off some negative energy and chill out, I didn't mind. Anything for my Edward.

* * *

><p>We spent all summer hanging out at our meadow, and him sneaking into my room. Edward told me over and over how much he loved me, and that he was crazy about me.<p>

Sometimes the sex was rougher than I would've liked, but I didn't complain because it was Edward.

* * *

><p>Things changed in a big way when Dr. Cullen found out about some sort of problem with his extended family back in England. He packed up his wife, Edward and Alice (by this point, Emmett was in college on a football scholarship, so he didn't have to stir from his dorm) and they all left for the UK. Mrs. Cullen apparently wrote it off as an "extended vacation" for the family. Edward wouldn't tell me the details, but there's one really important thing I must convey to you.<p>

This huge "my parents are making us all move across the Atlantic" bomb was dropped on my birthday, at the beginning of my senior year. Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Bella! Your boyfriend's probably not gonna see you again, ever.

After such an awesome spring and summer with the boy I thought was the love of my life, I totally hit rock bottom. I realize now how quickly I'd become dependent upon him, but I didn't know it then. I just knew I felt like I wanted to curl up and die.

I didn't.

Instead, I crossed paths with Jacob Black, a childhood friend of mine who lived on the Quileute reservation. Being I'm part Quileute, that probably means we're distant cousins or something.

For awhile though, you could probably say we were kissing cousins.

I hadn't heard from Edward in three weeks since his move to England. So, I tried my best to distract myself from the pain of losing him, half-certain that he'd forgotten all about me.

Jacob and I kinda had a _thing_ going on after that point. It wasn't a _thing_ like I had with Edward, but it was some_thing_.

Jake had a day job as a mechanic at an auto repair shop owned by his dad, Billy. Billy had diabetes, and had gotten too frail in his old age and with the advance of the disease to handle the repair work. Lucky for him, Billy'd been teaching Jake about axles and carburetors since Jake was still in diapers and Jake was, at 19, already an ace mechanic. Billy still technically owned the establishment, but it was Jake that did the work and day-to-day management.

So I'd hang out at the garage, and learn a few things here and there from Jake about the care and feeding of Chevy trucks (like my beloved old clanger) and how to replace a torn brake line on a Harley. And we might have done the horizontal mambo a few times in the bed of my truck. He was a muscular guy with a handsome physique and rough-hewn, but gentle, hands.

The polar opposite of Edward – who was lankier, taller and leaner than the bulkier Jacob.

It didn't really mean anything; it was just good sex between good buddies, a friends-with-benefits type of situation. That's what I told Jacob... and tried to tell myself.

Jake's a cool guy, and he was really fun just to hang around. I kinda miss him. I think I'll give him a call later.

But I wasn't ready for another relationship. Not after having my heart broken by Edward. Jake understood, but – poor guy! – tried to convince me that Edward really wasn't all that and wasn't worth my tears and angst. I wish I'd listened to him. I would've saved myself a lot of pain.

But I was still obsessed with Edward, and even a perfectly sweet First Nation mechanic with good hands couldn't distract me from that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Yeah, not all that romantic when you think about it that way, is it?

I had initially planned this as a oneshot like the rest of my _Twilight_ spitefics so far. But, in the actual act of writing, it quickly became a two-parter. This Bella had a _lot_ to say about what she went through, and what it took both to get in _and_ out of her situation. And really, I can't blame her for needing to talk about it. (I've been there, done that myself. Unfortunately.)

And yes, an added bonus is that I have completely stripped away the vampirism == sex metaphor, and replaced it with actual sexual intercourse.

Part 2 is coming up and, oh man, shit is about to get _real_, son. So join me same bat time, same bat channel!


	2. Part 2

**Author's Note: **See Part 1 for explanation and warnings.

Also, to the Anon E. Mouse: "Practically victim hating/blaming by having her disregard Edward's roughness"? You fail at basic reading comprehension, kiddo. I explained my intention _and_ Bella's characterization for this story at the note in the beginning of Part 1. Also, this is_ Bella's_ perspective on the abuse, not mine, as_ she_ is the narrator. I don't share her opinions on the matter, nor do I blame her for having been abused; the opinions of the characters I write are _not_ my own. I honestly didn't think I'd have to _explain_ that, but there ya go.

*sigh* Anyway, folks, onward and upward.

* * *

><p><strong>Part 2<strong>

To my immense surprise and delight, Edward returned before Christmas. I was also upset because, in all that time, he hadn't bothered to contact me. He "explained" that things back with the rest of the Cullen clan in Merrie Olde England had been completely messed up; the phone service was crap, they didn't have internet access and a hand-written letter would've taken too long and could've easily gotten lost.

Foolish girl that I was, I forgave him. I also felt moved to confess that I'd been less than faithful to him, although not saying with whom, because I thought he'd forgotten all about me.

Rather than appreciating my honesty, as I'd hoped, instead he slapped me. Hard. The force of the blow caused me to stagger back. I lost my balance and fell onto Mrs. Cullen's glass coffee table. It shattered when I landed on it.

The result was an artery in my arm sliced open, and a panicked Edward called Dr. Cullen straight home from his practice to tend to the injury. Dr. Cullen told me I should be in the hospital, but I replied that there was nothing the ER could do for me that Dr. Cullen couldn't do right there in his own home, and with less waiting time.

Besides, it was just a stupid accident. If I had been more careful, if I hadn't upset Edward...

Those self-recriminations would become a major theme in my thought processes for some time.

* * *

><p>Edward took to monitoring my movements after that. When he couldn't follow me somewhere, I'd get the Spanish Inquisition the second I came back from wherever it was I went.<p>

He'd frequently take my cellphone from me to see who I'd called, and who'd called me. If he didn't recognize the number or the name, he'd demand to know, in the most belligerent tone I'd ever heard, just who the fuck it was.

Edward hit the roof when he discovered, through other sources, my affair had been with Jacob. After that, he was more prone than ever to dark sulks, and one of the questions he'd instantly hit me with upon my comings and goings was if I was going to or had seen Jake.

I wanted to visit my mechanic friend again, just to talk to him, but I was afraid. Going to Angie's house was my only respite. I was terrified of angering Edward; but worse, I thought I deserved his rage because he loved me and I'd been unfaithful in his absence. And I was afraid to tell Angie, because I didn't want her to be a new subject of his ire.

If only I'd remained chaste in his absence, if only I hadn't convinced myself he'd had forgotten me, if only I hadn't slept with Jake...

Edward's sexual appetite became insatiable, and the sex was frequently rough rather than tender. But he developed a new habit: insulting me while we fucked, calling me a bitch and saying I was his whore, and the only cock I should ever take was his _goddammit_. You know, the sort of stuff you hear in cheap gonzo porn, and wonder if the girl is enjoying herself only because she's being paid for it.

Strangely enough, as a girl who was not being paid to take verbal abuse during sex, I did enjoy it very much. Perhaps because, in a completely bizarre way, I believed he was right on the money to call me those names. That I was a bitch and a whore.

But I missed the times before when, in the heat of the moment, he used to tell me he loved me and that I was the most beautiful and sexy woman on the planet.

* * *

><p>Due to my problems with Edward, my focus on school had diminished considerably, and I was failing most of my classes. I was informed by the school that I had to do something about improving my grades, or I'd either end up in summer school, repeating the year, or having to drop out and get a G.E.D.<p>

It didn't help matters that Edward constantly berated my intelligence, his insults varying from using fifty-dollar phrases like "exceptionally unobservant" to flat-out calling me stupid.

My health, which he'd once been so concerned about, now prompted him to call me everything in the book from a greedy cow who constantly stuffs her fat face to a skinny-ass weakling who thinks people should drop everything to pick up her shit.

The one time I said I wanted to go to the Quileute reservation to see a newly-wed friend of mine, Emily Young (now Mrs. Uley), he'd pulled a part out of my truck so it wouldn't start. Then he told me he knew I was really going to see Jacob, and _that wasn't going to fucking happen._

I suppose you're wondering at this point why I still stayed with him. As I said, I thought I deserved it. And, more confusingly, there were plenty of times when he was back to the old sweet Edward I'd fallen in love with, giving me flowers and picnics in our meadow. Apologizing for his shitty behavior and promising not to do it again.

I fucking fell for it every time. Hook, line and sinker.

I didn't know which Edward was the real one, and kept hoping the nice, romantic Edward I loved so much would be here to stay _this time_. But he never did, always making room for his other, nastier self when things didn't go according to what Edward Anthony Masen Cullen hath decreed.

I stopped dressing up and wearing makeup because Edward said I looked like a hooker.

I did whatever he wanted during sex in the hopes he'd get his anger out of his system that way, even if it wasn't something I particularly enjoyed. Some girls out there like some seriously kinky shit, and that's totally awesome for them. Not me, though – I'll happily take loving "vanilla" sex any day to this aggro BDSM crap.

Then again, my experience – and my partner – probably wasn't the ideal for sexual experimentation. The livid bruises he gave me in the process didn't help, either.

Whoever wrote the song that says "you always hurt the ones you love/the ones you shouldn't hurt at all" is just making excuses for guys like Edward. I may've not had much experience on the romance front, but I definitely know now from the harsh tutor of personal experience that love and pain are seldom friendly with each other.

But back then, I simply expected it. I didn't know anything different, and I honestly loved him. And I thought he loved me.

Pathetic.

* * *

><p>I ended up dropping out of school. I watched Angie, Alice and Edward accept their diplomas, all the while regretting that I wasn't among them to throw my cap up with the rest of my class. Instead, my butt was parked among the audience of friends and family.<p>

Dad was very disappointed in me. Almost as disappointed as I was in myself. Angie tried to console me, telling me that I could always get my G.E.D. and go on from there. Edward said I wasn't the bookish type anyway, and that I didn't need any of that because he'd always take care of me.

But I _had_ been a bookish person, once. I mourned the loss of that Bella.

* * *

><p>A month after my epic failure to graduate with the rest of my class, Edward proposed. I realize now that, by that point, I was so beaten down emotionally that I resigned myself to whatever fate Edward had in store for me.<p>

Funny, getting proposed to by the man you love is supposed to be the happiest day of a woman's life – second to actually walking down the aisle, of course. On the outside, I probably did seem happy. But that happiness was a lie. Not merely because I was trying to convince others, but because I was trying to convince myself.

I could tell from the look Dad had on his face when we told him of our impending nuptials that he was worried for me. And he told us that he thought our marrying right out of high school seemed a little too hasty.

When Edward went out to the car before me, as we were about to leave to meet with our wedding planner, Dad pulled me aside to say something that got me right in the heart.

"It's gonna be strange not having you under my roof." There was a slight pause, before he added, "You know this'll always be your home, right?"

I grabbed Dad into a tight bear hug on impulse, and told him I loved him.

I'm so glad he said that then. It was exactly those words that came back to me at exactly the right time.

* * *

><p>My idea of a dream wedding was something completely low-key, on the beach wearing a purple sundress and no shoes (purple's my favorite color, so why the hell shouldn't I get to wear it on my wedding day if I want?). The guests would be in bathing suits, just a small party of our immediate families and closest friends. Everybody would jump in the water and have a swim after the whole "kiss the bride" bit, and the banquet would be a potluck supper.<p>

I didn't get my dream wedding. Edward insisted that he wanted everybody who was anybody to come to the wedding. It was high-class all the way, and elaborate as all get out.

I relented because Edward insisted, denying myself the low-key and simple luau of my dreams so Edward could show me off the way he wanted. And I wore the blindingly white Vera Wang dress and matching Jimmy Choo stilettos Alice picked out for me, clinging to my father's arm the whole time because I'd never worn such dangerously high heels before and I was afraid I'd fall flat on my face in front of everyone.

It was _his_ dream, not mine. Never mine.

* * *

><p>I thought having a baby would change him.<p>

Like hell.

I named our daughter Vanessa, because I really liked the singer-actress Vanessa Williams and thought Ms. Williams had a beautiful name to go with her beautiful face and singing voice. And I gave the baby a middle name inspired by my dad: Carlotta, the feminine Italianate form of Charles.

"Vanessa Carlotta Cullen." Well, _I_ thought it sounded nice... until Edward took to calling her _Nessie_. You know, as in the Loch Ness Monster. Then I realized I'd probably set my kid up for a lifetime of mockery.

It's still a pretty name, though.

It was a difficult birth; my health problems mean I was prone to high-risk birthing. I had to stay in bed for most of the time to keep my strength up. Edward claimed to our gyn/ob that he understood, but he really didn't. I could see in his eyes that, as far as he was concerned, I was a fuck-up for not even being able to do pregnancy right.

My beautiful little Vanessa was born by Caesarean-section; she had to be. I lost a lot of blood, and the doctor wasn't sure I'd make it, so they had to give her a quick exit. In the end, they also had to remove my uterus, as the labor had caused it to prolapse (medical jargon for slipping out of its proper place), and give me a major blood transfusion to prevent exsanguination (that's the term for bleeding to death, if you were wondering).

I can still have sex, but I'll never be able to have another child. So, I better get this Mommy shtick right the first time.

* * *

><p>When Vanessa was six months old, I went to visit my friend Emily on the reservation. I took "Nessie" with me as part of a playdate for Sam and Emily Uley's baby son, Perry, with my daughter. I didn't have Edward's permission to go; I'd snuck onto the rez while Edward was at work.<p>

If he found out, I have no idea what his reaction would be. His moodswings gave me whiplash. He could be completely unaffected by it... or fly into a rage the second he heard.

It made me feel like I was doing something wrong... to want to see my friends, to have a life outside of Edward. I think that was really the point that the reasoning part of my brain demanded to be heard.

But it was the conversation I had with Emily that did it, I think.

We were sitting on a blanket on her front lawn, our babies on our laps and toys strewn about us. She turned away from me for a moment, at the sound of some older kids down the lane shouting at each other in a street hockey game.

I saw an angry bruise on the back of her neck, that looked like she'd been belted with a wooden dowel. My loud gasp brought her attention back to me.

"Did... did Sam do _that_?"

"He's done worse," she replied, all too calmly. "He's threatened to take Perry from me if I leave him."

"My Dad could..."

Emily sighed. "Your dad's out of his jurisdiction here. I'm alone in this, Bella; tribal law is on Sam's side." She had a look on her face like she could cry, if only she had any tears left. "I don't have a choice in the matter, Bella. I _have_ to stay with him."

The thought made my blood run cold. And, it also made me think: was I really _forced_ to stay with Edward? Could I leave him, if I chose?

The thought terrified me. Edward, abusive bastard though he was, was none the less the devil I knew. I had no idea what would lay ahead of me, and the thought of change scared me.

Could I leave Edward? Did I even want to?

* * *

><p>Edward found out about my flouting his rules. His impossible, ever-changing rules.<p>

The icing on the cake was that I didn't have dinner ready and waiting on the table for him. I had just put the water on to boil, and Nessie in her highchair, when he came home.

Edward flew into a rage. He shoved me onto the couch, tore off my shirt and took off his belt. I thought he was going to force me to have sex, but no... this time was different.

He hit me with his belt. Repeatedly.

_**WHACK!**_

I jumped as the leather made sharp contact with my bare skin, and the metal buckle left its marks on my body.

_**WHACK! WHACK!**_

He shoved my head down into the cushions and, when I reached behind me to try to catch the belt, to try to stop the beating, he changed direction to hitting my arms with it.

_**WHACK!**_

The pain was nothing compared to knowing my Nessie could see me from the kitchen. Hearing her cry out "Mama!" should've made me proud, as it was the first time she'd ever spoken.

But the memory of her first attempt at speech will be forever tainted by this.

_**WHACK!**_

"Mama!" she wailed. "Mama!" She was too young to understand. She could only voice her fear and confusion – at Daddy's voice being so loud, as he did hurtful things to Mommy right before her very young eyes – by crying out for me.

_**WHACK!**_

"Mama!"

_**WHACK!**_

I wept, not from the pain of the beating, but from the realization of the life I would be condemning my little Nessie to if I stayed. She would grow up watching her mother be routinely beaten by her father.

"Mama!"

_**WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!**_

I didn't care what happened to me, but what if he turned on her? My sweet, innocent little baby daughter?

"Mama!"

_**WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!**_

What if this life convinced her that this is what love is, and she grew up to find a man just like her father?

"Mama!" As he continued to beat me, her cries became progressively higher-pitched and protracted.

_**WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!**_

What if, one day, he beat me so bad I ended up hospitalized? Or dead? There'd be no one to protect my daughter.

"_Mama!"_

_**WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!**_

My beautiful little Vanessa. I can't let this happen to her.

"_MAMAAAAA!"_ This last sounded more like a scream, as if it had echoed from the bottom of her soul and into mine.

_**WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!**_

I couldn't stay. For her sake, I _had_ to leave.

* * *

><p>About a half-hour after Edward went to work the next day, I called Angela. I told her I couldn't stay with Edward anymore, that I <em>had<em> to leave him. I ended up sobbing, and I'm sure I didn't make a lot of sense amid my tears. But something I said apparently was obviously, horribly clear to her.

"Edward _hit_ you?" Angela fumed. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes. I'll help you pack and you can stay at my place till we figure out what to do."

She came over promptly, as she promised, and helped me pack up mine and Vanessa's things. I took only the things that had sentimental value, and a few changes of clothes. For Nessie, I packed all her clothes, necessities and her favourite toys.

The result was three suitcases, a duffel loaded down like one of Santa's sacks, and Nessie's diaper bag. Angela quickly helped me load them into the trunk of her car, and switch Vanessa's carseat from the Mercedes he'd bought me for my nineteenth birthday – a status symbol, Secret Service-style piece of shit that I no longer wanted any part of – into the backseat of her car.

That Mercedes wasn't me, had never been me – but he'd deep-sixed my beloved old Chevy months before, claiming he didn't want _his_ daughter in such a dangerous, unreliable old vehicle. I was angry about it now, because Edward had taken from me something that had been a gift from my father. Dad didn't have a ton of money being a cop, granted, but he'd given it to me out of love. The car Edward had given me was just another way of owning me, of making me feel I owed him.

Already a mother at nineteen, and already separating from the father of my child. What had I done with my life? What kind of example was I setting for my daughter?

* * *

><p>The passing of the day at Angela's house was fraught with tension. I was scared of what would happen when Edward came home to find me gone.<p>

Vanessa was perfectly fine. She garbled playfully and patted at all the objects within reach in Angela's home. Seeing my little girl happy made me smile. It would all be okay. I would _make_ it okay for her.

After all, I'd already taken the first step towards a brighter future for her, and the first step was always the hardest, right?

Angela'd set us up in a spare bedroom of her home, and did the best she could to babyproof her house. The house had been hers ever since her grandmother, her legal guardian, had died of heart failure shortly after her eighteenth birthday. Grandma Weber hadn't lived long enough to see Angela graduate, but her grandmother's love was a thick perfume around the house. You could _feel_ it, as if Grandma Weber was watching over her granddaughter still.

The house had been paid for, completely, well before Grandma Weber's death. Angela had been listed in the will as sole heir to all her belongings, and recipient of everything else under Grandma Weber's name; the house and everything in it – and the money her grandmother had set aside – was all Angela's to do with as she wished.

Angela had told me she'd rather saw off her right arm than get rid of any of her grandmother's things.

The peace and love I felt in the house _did_ help me relax a little. For the first time in a long time, I was beginning to feel... _safe._ Yes, that was it. I finally felt safe.

Maybe Grandma Weber's spirit would protect us against Edward.

* * *

><p>When darkness fell, Edward showed up. He was clearly drunk, from his ravings as he pounded upon Angela's front door.<p>

"Bella? Bella, come on! Come back to me, baby!" _BAM. BAM. BAM._ "Come on, Bella. I know you're in there! BELLA!"

My first instinct was to head for the door, but Angela stopped me. She interposed herself between me and the door, and silently shook her head.

"Bella? BELLA!" His tone was becoming more desperate now, and the volume of his shouting increased. "BELLA, COME ON! COME ON, BELLA!"

A long pause, then pleading, "Bella, I just want to talk to you. Come on baby, please. Don't be like this. BELLA!" _BAM. BAM. BAM._ "BELLA!"

My hand went to my mouth, silencing the cry that nearly fought its way past my lips. Goddamn the man, I felt _guilty_ for leaving him now. But he was the very same man that had beaten me in front of my daughter, I had to remind myself. _He doesn't deserve your forgiveness._

"BELLA!" There was silence, then a _BOOM!_ of his shoulder colliding with the door. "Open the goddamn door!"

"She's not here!" Angela shouted back at him through the plank of wood separating them, as I quietly fought back my tears.

"BULLSHIT!" _BAM._ "BULLSHIT! Open the door! Open the..."

There was the sound of rapid pacing and scrabbling, like he was trying to find a means to either peer his way in or another way to open the door. His voice had become piteous and hoarse. "Come on, Bella, please... Bella, please!"

Angela went for the phone. "I'm calling the cops. He's gonna break down the door, if this keeps up."

I caught her hand, trying to ignore the pain twisting in my stomach as his ravings nearly deafened us from conversation. "_No!_ No cops. I don't want my dad to know."

Angela sighed. "Alright, no cops." She then smiled grimly. "I've got another idea."

* * *

><p>She called her boyfriend, Ben Cheney, a bona fide Navy SEAL to aide us. They had been together since senior year and, with Ben spending most of his time overseas now that he'd gone into the Navy, they'd had little opportunity to see each other. He'd been visiting his mom today, and trying to spend a little time with his family, but he immediately came through for Angela.<p>

I watched, peering through the venetian blinds, as Ben strong-armed Edward away from the door. Angela was nearly six feet, herself, but Ben was even taller and much more muscular. Local magpies didn't call him Big Ben for nothing, y'know (of course, the gossip-mongers often wondered if he was big _all over_ which, according to Angela, was a definite "yes").

Ben physically manhandled Edward into his Hummer to take Edward back home. As, in Edward's current state, he was clearly in no condition to drive.

Seeing Ben handle Edward so assuredly gave me a strange boost of confidence. Edward _wasn't_ the biggest and baddest on the block, after all. And, if need be, Ben would likely be willing to give a little protection detail.

That little bit of reassurance helped me sleep that night.

* * *

><p>The next step to take was seeing a divorce lawyer. Angie knew just who to call; Eric Yorkie, one of our old classmates.<p>

"Really? Eric's a divorce lawyer now?" I dimly remembered him as a lanky Asian kid with emo hair who was really enthusiastic about... well, _everything._ Like a human version of a Yorkshire terrier.

"Yup. Mike's really proud of him, that Eric's got such a successful practice," Angie replied. "And Eric doesn't just specialize in divorce. He does child support cases and other family-related issues, too."

Wait, what was this about _Mike_ being proud of Eric? I'd been out of the loop for so long, due to my problems with Edward. Was there something going on there that I'd missed?

"Mike came out of the closet about a year ago, when he and Eric went public about their relationship. They make a cute couple, and seem really happy together."

Ok, Eric I'd always suspected. He was the most flamboyant member of our grade in school, so it didn't surprise me he was as gay as the day is long. But _Mike?_ He didn't seem like the type.

Of course, homosexuality isn't like a scarlet letter or anything, but Mike had always seemed so... _masculine_ to me. And he'd always been very nice to me. If I hadn't been wooed and won by Edward, I would've been tempted to try my luck with Mike. And probably failed miserably to in the attempt, from the sound of it.

But at least they were happy together.

Eric (who, as it turned out, was still a bit flamboyant in personality, but had traded in his emo hair and ripped jeans for a more conservative buzzcut and a dashing pinstripe suit) was very happy to take my case on, and sympathized with me on my situation. I confessed all to him, and he hugged me when I broke down into tears in his office.

Trying to change the subject for a minute, I remarked to him that it must be strange to be a divorce lawyer when those who shared his sexual preference were fighting for the right to have legally recognized marriages.

"I believe everyone, no matter who they are, have the inalienable right to be Masters of their own destinies," was Eric's sage response. "Even if that means watching them screw up and cleaning up the mess myself."

There must have been something in my face, because Eric was quick to reassure me. "Bella, you're not the problem here. It's _Edward_ who's the screw-up. He had something fantastic and wonderful in his hands and, rather than treasuring it and handling it with care, he walked all over it. Love is worth more than all the gold and precious gems in the world, and it does not make me a happy camper to see it used and abused. _That's_ why I'm here."

* * *

><p>I wish I could say the divorce gave me a happy ending. But there are no happy endings, because nothing ever really ends.<p>

Edward fought with me every step of the way, during the divorce proceedings, and I had to drag out every painful memory of how he treated me for public consideration. His lawyer's official defense was, basically, to claim I was a gold-digger who was lying about the beatings and sexual assaults.

The judge, thankfully, was a man with little patience for abusive assholes and deadbeats in his courtroom. The divorce went through, and Edward has to pay me damages in addition to alimony and child support.

My dad and Angela have been with me every step of the way. With Ben providing the occasional heavy-lifting, of course.

I've moved back to my dad's house, and am working on getting my G.E.D.

I've used a little of my alimony to get a new car. This one's an Impala Jake refurbished and sold to me for a song. This made me happy 'cos I'm definitely a Chevy girl.

I've had to file several restraining orders against Edward.

I've been looking for a job to help Dad out in paying the bills but, without having obtained my G.E.D., no one will hire me.

I'm trying to look into colleges, particularly ones that have scholarships for single mothers. There's a few promising ones – not Yale or Harvard, but pretty good quality schools – that might take me in. And, hopefully, provide a play area for my daughter.

Alice has yet to come around to the fact that her twin brother was abusive to me. Her new boyfriend, Jasper – a tall drink of Southern Comfort – has been using his psychology degree to try to reason with her on my behalf.

He also is the one who suggested writing down my thoughts will help give me perspective and provide a release. (Thanks, Jas!)

Emmett, when he found out about the divorce, socked Edward in the jaw. And, I've been told, when Em found out why I divorced Edward, Rose and several of his teammates had to hold him back from giving Edward a beat-down.

I've resuscitated my friendship with Jake. He seems pretty happy now, and is dating Leah Clearwater, one of the girls from the reservation. She doesn't seem to like me much, but I think it might be because Jake still carries a torch for me. I'm okay with that, and I try to keep my distance to avoid upsetting their domestic bliss. But sometimes, I still miss Jake and can't resist calling him.

I'm not dating anyone, because I'm still trying to get over Edward... and I'm a little scared that not a lot of guys will accept a twenty year old mom as girlfriend material. But I know, whenever I _do_ finally decide to date, my prospective mates will have to pass muster with Vanessa first.

Nessie's getting so big, and has hit the terrible twos. She's really fond of telling me "no." It's aggravating sometimes, but it's also comforting because I _want_ my daughter to have the power to say "no".

As long as I don't give her everything she wants, we should be fine.

And we _will_ be fine.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>This is the only real ending for a relationship like Bella and Edward's. The only true happy ending is a clean break from that life, and Bella's now in for years of counseling and coming to terms with the past to work out a magazine rack's worth of issues.

For those of you wondering, I've read all four books _and_ Das Mervin's sporkings of the series. Oh yeah, I definitely did my homework. THE KIND OF BEHAVIOUR EDWARD DISPLAYS IN CANON IS NOT ROMANTIC IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM.

Anyway, I hope you found yourself thoroughly engrossed in this realistic take (All-Human, no sparkle) on Bella and Edward's True Wuv.


	3. Supplemental Author's Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_For those who believe or under the misapprehension that 1) Edward's "not abusive, just protective" in canon or 2) my writing was one-dimensional in regards to the characters, or 3) are simply confused and need some elucidation:_

* * *

><p>1. I myself am a survivor of abuse. My knowledge of abuse is based on what I've experienced personally. My stepfather was an alcoholic who terrorized me and my mother from the time I was four until my mom finally kicked him out of the house when I was 20 (she had the help of my godmother, who my stepfather was TERRIFIED of). I'm not saying this for a sympathy vote; I just want you to know that this wasn't spun from thin air by an inexperienced Suethor. And for those who don't believe me... well, believe what you want. But I've got the therapy bills to prove it. And yes, some of this was a "release" for me, too.<p>

The last time I was abused was 10 years ago. I've been recovering ever since then. Additionally, my stepfather died of emphysema in December 2011. I didn't find out about that until January 2012, just over a month before I wrote this fic. My stepfather's death left me feeling very conflicted, and it certainly coloured my writing.

* * *

><p>2. Abuse is real, and it can only continue in the real world if people ignore it and act like it doesn't exist or can't happen to them. Talking about it helps banish that demon, and as long as I got you lovely people talking and thinking about the issues I've placed in front of you, it doesn't matter if you like my prose or not.<p>

Besides, I'm much better at writing in third person, anyway. Bella's "voice" is too amateurish and colloquial compared to my original pieces, but I wanted her voice to be somewhat consistent with canon, so there you have it. I'm extremely particular about my original fiction, less so about my fanfic... and "Never Again" was written in two days with no outline or advance preparation, and after almost a year of writer's block. It was very stream-of-consciousness, like how Stephenie Meyer writes her books. And like how this note is.

* * *

><p>3. Bella herself is writing as a survivor, therefore she's only recounting the abuse she survived. However, she's pointed out repeatedly in her narration that Edward wasn't terrorizing her 247. He's not one-dimensional. You just don't get to see his nicer, more "human" moments so much, because Bella's putting the pieces together and realizing how bad the abuse really was. When you're at that point in your personal recovery, the "nice times" don't mean squat to you anyway, because you're so angry at having been abused in the first place. She also blames herself for the abuse, something that is very typical of an abuse victim and hardly "saintly". (Bella blaming herself in regards to Edward's behaviour is also very canon.)

Also? Time makes everything but the absolute worst and absolute best memories fuzzy, because our brains can only retain so much info, and our recollections are coloured by what we know now. Remember, Bella's entire attitude throughout this piece has been "Man, if I knew then what I know now, I would've dumped him ASAP, because it seems so obvious in retrospect!" So, yes, it's obvious to us that she should have left him to begin with, because it's obvious to her now. It's a post-abuse diary where the entries are undated, so you don't get to see every second of their tumultuous relationship. (Just go back and count how many times she mentally kicks herself for not being aware, and you'll see what I mean.)

* * *

><p>4. Speaking of Bella's so-called "saintly" behaviour, it's canon for Bella to blame herself, to ignore danger signs, etc. If she were a "perfect" little Mary Sue in my story, she'd have known Edward was abusive without any proof whatsoever. And there would be no story. Or, alternatively someone else would have conveniently rescued her and she'd bounce back like nothing ever happened, like I've seen in every other fic on this site. No, she had to figure it out for herself, what it was, that she had to get away and to reach out for help... and she's still coming to terms with the abuse. Which is how surviving abuse generally is.<p>

Also? Flirting with Edward's brother right in front of him, and joining in mocking Edward at the dinner table? That was definitely a dick move. But Edward's response was out of proportion to the "crime." That was the point, that nothing makes abuse excusable, and I'm not surprised that people didn't notice the negative traits I gave her given how much larger than life Edward's nastiness is in comparison. She's not any more perfect than he is. Hell, she even chose him over completing her education!

So, if you think she's a one-dimensional good girl, you fail basic reading comprehension. Same with him. Obviously he had to have some good points for her to fall for him (A guy who gives roses and cute cards, and offers picnics in a meadow? Who wouldn't sign up for that?). And that's the problem with abuse-you spend years in denial, because "they're not bad all the time, so it can't be that bad, right?"

* * *

><p>5. The things I added are ultimately the direction where a real abusive relationship would go. Though Edward hasn't, for all intents and purposes, raped Bella in canon, the following is what he HAS done in Stephenie Meyer's books:<p>

- he has treated her like property

- he has insulted her repeatedly (calling her "exceptionally unobservant", and constantly alluding to how "breakable" she supposedly is)

- he has thrown her into a glass table

- he has removed a part from the engine of her truck to stop her from seeing her friends

- he had forced her into a car when she didn't want to go with him

- he has forced her to eat when she wasn't hungry

- before they had exchanged more than half a dozen words, and long before they had a relationship, he broke into her house to watch her sleep without her knowledge or consent

- he bruised her during sex on their wedding night

- he manipulated her into accepting his marriage proposal

- he threatened suicide before leaving her (the whole "you humans have such easy ways to die" conversation)

- when he dumped her, he left her alone in the woods where wild animals or vagrant vampires could kill her

There's more, but I'll stop there because I'm sure you get the point.

This is what I added:

- dubcon sex (we never actually see Edward actively forcing her, just Bella giving into him, much like canon Bella constantly giving in to canon Edward's manipulations)

- strong language (both characters swear frequently, so that's an equalizing trait for both of them)

- the finale where he beats her in front of her daughter (because: Hello Bella! This is your wake-up call!)

That's it. But the "aggro BDSM crap" (Bella's words in Part 2) that their sex life becomes? That was a deliberate fishslap to that most infamous of _Twilight_ spinoffs, _50 Shades of Grey_. Yeah, I went there.

Oh, I almost forgot. In one case, I actually dialed some canon abuse down. Emily? She didn't get her face ripped off by an angry werewolf. She just got smacked in the back of the neck with a wooden dowel. (Not that that's any better, but at least the scars won't last the rest of her life. And maybe she'll leave Sam, one day.)

* * *

><p>6. Finally, like the original Bella in the <em>Twilight<em> books, she's a reader proxy. Even so, you know more about my Bella than you learn of the canon version in four books. In four books, did you ever learn what TV shows Bella likes to watch? Her political affiliation? Her religious beliefs, beyond "oh, yeah, souls exist, and I think Edward is an angel on earth and we have a good chance of getting into Heaven together?" Do you know what her favourite item of clothing is? No? Well, there's no excuse for that. Stephenie had four door-stopper books to flesh Bella out; I only had 9,756 words, and I did what I could in as few words as I could.

I didn't give her a personality transplant. I wrote her the way Meyer had intended, instead of what she actually was in the books... which, if you'll notice, is the first thing I spelled out right in the beginning Author's Note for Part 1, before the story proper. That Author's Note provides an explanation you** need** to read before diving in. At least two of you Anon E. Mice clearly didn't bother to read that Very Important Note in spite of it's placement at the top of the story with nicely bolded text to grab your attention and all. Otherwise, you would have realized this fic was definitely not for you. Don't blame me for getting your fingers burnt when I told you not to touch the stove, you silly goose. Even my cats know better than that, because they can at least interpret my tone of voice.

So, here's an aluminum star for you folks who failed at the basic reading comprehension required to take on this fic. For those of you who read and objectively understood the point of this exercise (whether you subjectively liked it or not), you get a nice shiny gold star.

* * *

><p><em>Hmmm. I think I actually covered all of what I wanted to say, as the basis for this deceptively simple fic is VERY complicated. So, I'm glad that people are reading, commenting, favouriting, and reccing. Just remember the bigger picture here-it's to open discussions on the reality of abuse, not to be a perfect piece of literature. You don't have to like it; just try to get your facts right on what I'm trying to say here, and keep in mind this line from my favourite television show, <em>Forever Knight_:_

**_"The first defense against evil? Open your damn eyes."_**

_All the best,_

_Melissa_


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